Curious Case of Kate Cordova
by mkthomson
Summary: DC Kate Cordova returns to London after two years away from her job in Scotland Yard. After being left traumatised when a case went horrifically wrong, she never thought she'd be back on the job. Kate's returned though, and she finds herself tied up in the dangerous world of Sherlock Holmes. But has she bitten off more than she can chew as her past returns to haunt her? Sherlock/OC
1. Katerina or Katalina?

Kate Cordova stood in the doorway of her new place of residence, her suitcase and a few boxes of belongings beside her feet. She hadn't arrived in London with much, just what she had with her now. The flat itself was on the fifth, and top floor, of an old apartment complex, the inside of which had been recently renovated to give the interior a more "modern" look. The week prior to her moving in Kate had brought furniture to decorate her new flat, so it wasn't completely empty, though it was still sparse. She picked up her suitcase and stepped inside, kicking her trainers off at the door. She padded across the floor and headed down a small hallway, her socks sliding on the polished wooden flooring and found her bedroom. After heaving the suitcase on to the bed, she went to collect the rest of her belongings in the boxes. She smiled fondly at the items she unpacked and placed around her new home, she'd only brought the important stuff with her. Other than grooming and cleaning essentials, everything else was books, clothes, photos, her camera and art supplies and other assorted bits and bobs she'd found herself sentimentally attached to. Soon her flat was starting to look like hers, and it became warmer and more homely the more stuff she put in it. In the bottom of her last box was a photo frame containing a picture she'd almost forgotten about. It was a large group of people, Kate was easily distinguished by her unruly curly blonde hair and beside her stood DI Greg Lestrade. That man had been a close friend of hers for almost six years, and he'd seen her through her police training and he'd been the one to buy her a beer when she'd got her detective badge. A smile found its way to her lips but quickly faded. She hadn't seen him for almost two years now, and she'd given up police work after a case turned horrendously sour and Kate couldn't bring herself to go back. Now, she'd returned to London. Scotland Yard had offered her her job back. Some higher power had decided she was mentally stable enough to handle killers again, though she had yet to decide if that higher power was right.

* * *

Sherlock Holmes stood in DI Greg Lestrade's office, the salt and pepper haired man leaning back casually in his chair.

"We can't just lock up the cleaner without any proper evidence!" Lestrade cried in anguish.

"We do have proper evidence! His laundry record should be enough, though I'm hardly surprised you didn't see it. Scotland Yard misses almost everything." Holmes retorted with a roll of his eyes. "Come on Lestrade, you've arrested someone before with less evidence than that. I have conclusive proof. I'm sure if you take a drive round to Mandy's Launderette just off the corner of Norwich Street. He'll be in there now. You've only got fifteen minutes until the spin ends though." Reluctantly Lestrade sent a group out to arrest said cleaner on charges of theft and fraud, bringing yet another case to a close. Sherlock stood proud, a smug grin on his face. Beside him, John Watson sipped quietly on his coffee, ignoring his companion's blatant cockiness. One thing Lestrade had learnt in his years working with Sherlock Holmes was that the man was never wrong. It always pained him to admit that, but sometimes the truth can't be ignored. "So," Sherlock smiled and clapped his hands in front of him. "What have you got for me next, detective?"

Before Lestrade could answer, Donovan's head appeared round the doorway, a smile on her face. "You've got a visitor,sir." Sherlock turned and frowned. Lestrade didn't have visitors. Did he? No, surely not. He couldn't have the time for friends... well, Sherlock thought, he could considering his complete and utter incompetence in the police force. What Sherlock didn't expect to see was a women. Lestrade certainly didn't have women friends (Donovan hardly counted, though maybe Anderson did) and not _pretty_ woman friends either. Sherlock was not a man who gave into such primitive urges, but he would not deny his brain the chance to look at something aesthetically pleasing. So, as the young woman entered Lestrade's office, Sherlock allowed himself to look.

"My God!" Lestrade beamed, pulling himself out of his chair. "If it isn't bloody Blondie!" He pushed past Sherlock and wrapped the young woman in a tight hug. "How long has it been? Two, three years? I heard about your sudden return, but I didn't think I'd be seeing you so soon!"

She was short, shorter than John, probably 5'4" give or take a few centimetres. Her skin was tanned, though it was a natural colour and pigmentation, not some synthetic sun-bed tone. She looked foreign, her parentage was certainly not English, but her ridiculous mess of blonde hair said otherwise. It was incredibly rare that blonde hair occur naturally in someone of Spanish or Italian decent, but Sherlock spied no trace of hair dye or colouring. She was pretty, but not the kind of pretty that made you stop a stare. It was more subtle than that, the kind of pretty you could only appreciate if you looked at her for a while. Sherlock didn't need a while though, he'd appreciated and moved on. Regardless of her nice hair and face, she wasn't the sort of woman a man would choose to copulate with in the hopes of producing offspring. Her breasts were too small (C Cup at a push) and her hips too narrow. Not the kind of things one would want in a potential breeding partner. Not to mention the odd genetics in regards to skin colour and hair.

"Oh Greg, it has been some time hasn't it?" She smiled and pulled away from him. "I moved in yesterday, got myself a nice apartment near St Barts." Her brown eyes trailed from Lestrade over to Sherlock and John, clearly she had only just noticed them standing there. She showed no obvious signs to having vision impairment, so maybe she was just ridiculously ignorant to her surroundings...

"This is Kate Cordova," Lestrade informed the two men. "She used to work here, but left a couple of years ago. Kate, this is Dr John Watson and Sherlock Holmes." Kate held her hand out to John, who shook it whilst uttering a polite greeting. Cordova- definitely of Spanish decent then. But Kate? _Kate?_ Such a ridiculously English name for a clearly non-English person. It could only be short for something. It had to be short for something.

"Katerina or Katalina?" He asked as she held her hand out to him. Sherlock looked at it for a moment but didn't take it.

"Pardon?" She asked, a frown creasing her forehead. No accent laced her words. She must of grown up in England then.

"Katerina or Katalina?" He asked again. "All the evidence points to you being of Spanish decent, except of course your hair and first name. Meaning Kate is short for something and seeing as Katerina and Katalina are two of the most popular Hispanic names beginning with K-A-T the likelihood of it being one of them is far greater than Kate being short for Alejandra. Unless of course it is, then that's a big miscalculation on my part and I'm afraid I'll have to start over again which would be a shame seeing as I was just reaching the traumatic event that rendered you useless and forced you to take a break from detective work at such a tender age of twenty-seven, just in the beginning of your career. You must be incredibly good at what you do or else Scotland Yard wouldn't have brought you back." He ended with a smug little nod. "Go on, ask me how I knew." He prompted, but Kate stayed silent for a moment before taking a step back.

"No," She said slowly, her frown disappearing as the corners of her mouth twitched. "I don't want to know how. It'll take away from the brilliance." She turned to John, though she gestured towards Sherlock. "Does he always do that?"

"Unfortunately, yes." John's eyes widened in emphasis.

"That's quite a talent you've got there Mr Holmes." The fact she seemed so unnervingly calm both frustrated and intrigued Sherlock. People usually freaked out when they realised he knew all there was to know about them from just a few glances.

"Well I'm glad you're impressed, such invasion of privacy sometimes doesn't go down well with most." He shrugged, remembering when he first deduced all there was to deduce about Mrs Hudson. She was far from happy and had called him a series of words a sailor would be proud of. "Now, Lestrade do you have a case for me or not?"

Lestrade shook his head. "No, no more cases at the moment. None that require your assistance anyway Sherlock." Sherlock scowled the the detective, but remained silent. Then without another word, the tall and fine featured man exited Lestrade's office and disappeared around the corridor. John said the briefest of goodbyes and followed after his friend. Kate stood in a shocked silence for a minute, unsure of what to say.

"What the hell just happened Greg?" She turned to face her friend and future employer.

"That, Kate, was Sherlock Holmes. Collar-popping, self-righteous bastard. You'll be seeing a lot of him now you're back on the job. Speaking of which, we should catch up over a coffee sometime." Lestrade moved back round to his desk where he began to rummage through his arduous amounts of paperwork. Kate paid no attention to his last comment, her eyes still fixed on the door that Sherlock Holmes had previously flounced out of.

"And why will I be seeing a lot of him?"

"He calls himself a consulting detective, the only one in the world. Invented the job apparently. Though it pains us all to admit it, we do need him. He's a right arrogant sod, but he's good at what he does and he gets the job done ten times faster than we could."

"Consulting detective,eh?" Kate grinned. "That is a new one."

* * *

**So,this is my first Sherlock fanfiction! I'm having fun with it so far, and have a crap load of ideas. I'd like you all to note now though, that Sherlock won't have fallen head over heels in love by chapter 5. I want to be realistic and write his character to the best of my abilities, and it'd be out of character for him. I'm also not an expert on London and don't know if there is in fact a Mandy's Laundrette down Norwich Street, nor do I know what the most popular Spanish girl's name is! Anyway, hope you enjoyed this first chapter. What's Kate's mysterious traumatic event? Well, you'll just have to wait and see! **

**Please read and review!**


	2. The Game, Miss Cordova, is On!

Three Weeks Later

* * *

Rushing out of the door in a flurry of curls, Kate ran out onto the busy London street, slamming the door to the apartment building shut behind her. She called a cab whilst pulling on her coat and hastily threw herself into the back of the vehicle when it pulled to a stop in front of her.

"Scotland Yard please." She instructed the driver. The churning sensation in her stomach wouldn't stop, and no matter how much she'd eaten or how much water she drank, the butterflies would not settle. The small black detective badge pressing against her hip stood as a constant reminder of what had happened and what was going to happen. A concoction of nerves, excitement and something Kate couldn't quite place stirred inside her, and as the cab arrived at the set destination, a wave of fear suddenly washed over her like the sea crashing violently against a boat. Last time she'd been here she'd been working _that_ case, and _that_ case only brought pain.

With a shake of her head Kate cast aside any thoughts of the past, and focused on the future. As the taxi came to a halt outside Scotland Yard, Kate couldn't get out of the car fast enough. She paid the cabbie and turned towards the big glass panelled building, the harsh October wind pulling her already knotted hair and sending her running towards the building. She let out a thankful sigh when she got inside and out of the wind. It was her first day back on the job and as she walked through the offices with a smile on her face and her head held high, Kate felt as if she'd never left.

* * *

"How you feeling?" Sergeant Sally Donovan asked as she walked alongside Kate. "First day back and everything. I imagine you're pretty nervous."

"No, actually," Kate laughed, hoisting the files she was holding up under her arm. "I'm not as nervous as I thought I'd be. I've actually kind of missed it."

"Well then you're in luck- there was a body found this morning, so your first case is a murder." Donovan raised her eyebrows and smirked, leading Kate down the corridor.

"A murder? So soon?" She asked, her eyebrows furrowing. Murders were always one of her favourites; anything and everything could happen. Of course, someone was dead, but that was just a result. It was how the person was killed and the course of action the killer took that interested Kate. Starting her career in the police force as a forensic photographer, she'd seen everything through a lens to begin with, and it wasn't until he recognised how good she'd be as a DC, that Lestrade told her to put the camera down and pick up a badge instead. During her time off, Kate had started photography again but taking pictures of weddings wasn't nearly as exciting as taking pictures of a body.

* * *

The house was ordinary looking from the outside. However, the inside was far from normal. The wallpaper had been torn and the coffee table broken from the evident struggle. Glass covered the floor, some of the shards speckled with blood. The blood covered most of the cream carpet as well, though the blood had dried and turned a dark brown. In the middle of the living room, a young man lay spread eagled on his stomach on the floor, his face beaten and swollen, rendering him almost completely unidentifiable without DNA testing. Photographers fluttered around the body, the flash of their cameras illuminating the gruesome scene. Lestrade, Donovan and Kate stood in the doorway of the room. "He was shot." Lestrade said, pointing towards the multiple bullet holes in the back of the dead man's coat. Kate grimaced and stepped forward towards the body before pausing.

"May I?" She asked. After a confirming nod from Lestrade, Kate moved to crouch beside the body, her eyes running up and down, taking in every wound on the man's body. She counted twelve bullet holes, though judging from the amount of blood she'd thought he'd been shot more than that.

"What on earth do you think you're doing? You'll contaminate the scene! No doubt that hair of yours is all over such a beautifully presented corpse!" A voice shouted from the doorway, making Kate jump to her feet. She turned, only to see Sherlock Holmes striding towards her, John Watson close behind. He was an odd looking man, all angles and thick black curls. She wouldn't call him ugly- no, he was far from ugly. Yet, he wasn't "hot" either. He was so unique looking that you just had to have a look at him. Sherlock Holmes was like a piece of art in a gallery, it may not be attractive but it was eye-catching and the longer you looked at it, the more beautiful it became.

"I'm looking at the body." She pointed out as he came to a halt beside her. "You know, because I'm a detective and it's my job."

"It's your first day back and they're letting you investigate a murder? Standards have dropped indeed." Sherlock snapped, pushing past Kate to crouch beside the body. He pulled a wrapped up set of tools from his coat pocket and from that he pulled out a small magnifying glass. Kate watched as he examined the body carefully yet quickly. She couldn't help but note how much he seemed to be enjoying it, and his face kept contorting from a frown to a smirk and back to a frown again. Kate turned to Lestrade and opened her mouth to question why he'd let Sherlock and John enter the crime scene. Expecting him to tell them to leave, or at least step away from the dead guy. But no, Lestrade just held up a hand a shook his head, silencing Kate before any words even escaped her mouth. Despite her confusion, she remained quiet and turned back to Sherlock and the body.

"What have you got then?" Lestrade called as Sherlock stood up. His eyes flitting from the body back to Lestrade before settling on the latter.

"Well," He began, sucking in a breath of air. "Thirty-six year old male, recently became a father, though him and the child's mother aren't together. Accountant at a bank a few miles from here or far enough for him to get the train everyday anyway. This is his house, there's a set of keys in his pocket and another in a bowl on the kitchen counter. He'd just arrived home- probably from the pub, he wouldn't wear those clothes to work- when he was killed. Not, may I add, by the shooting. Those wounds are post mortem. It was his face that was hurt first, so a fight broke out and he was beaten to death...no. No. Something doesn't add up about that. No the marks on his neck mean he was-"

"Strangled." Kate finished for him. She'd spotted the blue and purple bruising under the collar of his jacket, knowing all too well what marks hands could leave round someone's neck. Both John and Kate's eyes shot straight to Sherlock, who stared almost angrily at the blonde woman. His judgemental, all-knowing gaze made her want to squirm and lower her eyes and hide but she remained where she stood, her eyes locked on his. He looked at her as if he was analysing her, like he was finding out all of her secrets.

"Yes." He hissed, his brows arching together ever so slightly. "Strangled."

"Wait," John interjected, folding his arms over his chest and pulling Sherlock's scrutinizing gaze away from Kate. "I don't understand."

"This man came home from the pub at around eleven. His killer waited for him to come home, so it was a planned murder, where the two of them proceeded to fight. The killer is angry at this man which explains the complete overkill. They were fighting when this man was knocked or pushed into the coffee table face first, causing the glass to shatter and break. Whilst he was on the floor the killer then climbed upon his back and strangled him. Clearly he still wasn't satisfied with the bloodshed and shot the already dead man. Thus proving this was planned- who carries a gun around if they don't intend to use it?- and a murder fuelled by anger. But why? Why was he angry John? Why?"

"He?" Lestrade asked.

"Size of the hand prints around his neck. Too large to be a woman's, plus female murderers aren't this," Sherlock motioned to the area around him with his hands. "Messy. The average sized woman without any fighting background or training wouldn't be able to do what the killer did to this man's face anyway. It's practically been pulverized. Nor would she have the strength to. Don't look at me like that Detective," Sherlock frowned at Kate, though she hadn't realised she was looking at him 'like that.' "You know as well as I do that an untrained, normal woman would be able to take down let alone kill this man like the killer did. This tall, muscular, dead rugby playing man. Before you even ask 'Oh, Sherlock! How did you know he played rugby?' Well there's a picture of him and his team on the mantle piece and on the top of the bookshelf behind me there's several trophies."

Sherlock radiated cockiness, and it angered Kate how he was so aware of his own mental superiority. He wasn't even a bloody detective, she thought bitterly, he shouldn't even be here. It annoyed her even more in the fact that not only was he a cocky bastard, he was right. John must have noticed the annoyance on her face as he came and stood next to her.

"He's always like this." John muttered as Sherlock strode around the room, taking everything in like a bloodhound smelling for a rabbit. "You should try living with him."

"Oh God," She could hardly imagine living with such an arrogantly brilliant man. "I pity you."

"Nah, he's always a source of entertainment. There's never a dull day when you live with Sherlock Holmes, that much I am sure of." John let out a small chuckle. "Sometimes, if we're having a particularly dull day, I steal the cigarettes he hides in a slipper under the coffee table. Drives him mad but it keeps him busy." The way the man's flatmate described him made the 'consulting detective' sound like a child, an incredibly intelligent crime loving child, but a child all the same. Kate and John stood talking for a good ten minutes as Sherlock looked around the dead man's house, until they were finally interrupted by the one man wonder. Sherlock stood in front of Kate and John, his eyes glowing and wide, a smile spreading across his angular face.

"What's wrong?" Kate asked, taken aback by his sudden burst of excitement.

"The game, Miss Cordova, is on!" Sherlock rushed out of the house, his black Belstaff coat billowing behind him. "Come on John- you too Kate!" John too was smiling and followed after his companion. Kate started to leave with the shorter of the two, but paused by the door. Turning back to Lestrade, she grinned and mouthed a silent 'can I?' She didn't have to wait long for his approving nod and hurried out of the building and down the street towards Sherlock, who was calling for a cab, and John.

_Shit, _Kate thought as she climbed into the cab with them. _I'm hooked._


	3. Research

The taxi pulled up outside 221B Baker Street. The black door stood out against the white brick of the building, and the gold letters looked scratched and rusty, as did the knocker which was tilted slightly. Kate stepped out of the vehicle after Sherlock, who didn't look back to see who was paying the cabbie and instead unlocked the door, pushed it open and stepped inside. Kate felt rude just leaving John and so waited whilst he paid the cabbie before thanking him and following him inside, unable to ignore the smell of a full english radiating from Speedy's Cafe beside John and Sherlock's home.

The interior to 221B Baker Street was warm and homely, yet there was a distinct old and dusty feeling to it. She didn't know if it was the thick air or the garish vintage wallpaper, but Kate was under the impression this place had very much been loved and lived in. As John began to walk up the stairs, the door beside the creaky wooden stairs opened, and a small elderly lady dressed in a blouse and skirt stepped out. "John?" She asked, a frown on her delicate face. "That you John? Oh!" She called suddenly. "I didn't realise you had company!" Giving Kate a knowing smile, her face softening, the older woman folded her hands in front of her. John must of had "company" a lot then... "I'll be up with some tea soon then dear." She shouted up the stairs before disappearing back into her flat.

"Who-?" Kate started as they entered the flat.

"Mrs Hudson," John told her, the shorter man shrugged off his coat and hooked it on the coat peg. "She's our landlady. Sweet old thing, doesn't stop talking mind you. Please, detective, have a seat." John motioned to the red armchair beside the fire. Kate obliged and watched as John Watson sat down at the table between the two windows, opened up his laptop and started to type.

Kate looked around the flat, noting how Sherlock had seemingly disappeared. The walls of the flat all bore different colours of paint and wallpaper, though some how it all seemed to match. On the wall opposite the fireplace, the wall paper was grey and decorated with an ornate almost victorian-esque floral pattern. That wasn't what caught Kate's eye though, it was the yellow smiley face spray painted on the wallpaper, and the bullet holes that also adorned it. She squinted at it for a moment, trying to figure out why there were bullet holes in the wall. At first she thought maybe there had been trouble, but then it clicked that the holes made the shape of a smiley face... "Why are there bullet holes?" She muttered under her breath, her eyes drawn away from the wall by Sherlock making a reappearance. He fluttered around mumbling to himself and though Kate couldn't quite catch what he was saying, she guessed he was talking about the case.

The rest of the flat was what only could be described as organised chaos. There was stuff and some very strange stuff everywhere in the flat, yet it all looked like it had its place. She liked the mess, her flat was somewhat similar, it gave character to someone's home. Ridiculously clean houses only made her feel uncomfortable, they were far too clinical for her liking. Kate looked at everything on show, from the violin propped up against the window, to the Cluedo board stabbed into the wall beside the mirror. She found herself staring at the kitchen table for quite some time, the wooden surface covered in all matters of scientific equipment that she'd only ever seen at St Barts. She wondered what on earth it was doing here, and what strange experiments someone could conduct inside their own home.

"Hello," A voice called softly from the doorway. All three heads snapped in that direction, two of the heads pleased to see the steaming tea and biscuits on a tray in Mrs Hudson's hands, the third head, Sherlock, just groaned and carried on mumbling to himself. The landlady entered slowly, her eyes fixed on the tray and she placed it down on the small table beside the armchair Kate sat on. "I didn't know if you took sugar dear," She mumbled softly, passing Kate a cup, the ceramic was warm and felt delightful against her cold hands. "So I put two in. People usually have two anyway, except John. He's awfully picky and doesn't take sugar." Mrs Hudson smiled again, picked up a cup of the tea and took it over to John who uttered a thank you and quickly started to drink. "Oh! How rude of me! I haven't even asked your name. I'm Mrs Hudson dear, their landlady." She gestured in John and Sherlock's direction with a painted thumb.

"Kate. Kate Cordova. I work at Scotland Yard."

"Oh, so you're a detective then! Dangerous line of work, if you ask me. Sherlock and John get into all sorts of trouble. Damn boys bringing all the wrong sorts into my flat! Shooting the walls, banging around, shouting- don't get me started on the things in the fridge!" Mrs Hudson looked simply woeful, and Kate couldn't help but smile.

"Well, thank you for the tea Mrs Hudson, but don't you have somewhere else to be?" Sherlock snapped, striding over to the leather armchair in front of Kate. He'd taken his coat and jacket off, and the sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to the elbow.

"No," Mrs Hudson crossed her arms, thinking about if she did in fact, have somewhere else to be. "No. I've got to do the washing later, but I don't have anywhere else to go- oh! You want me to go? Oh Sherlock, I'm only trying to have a chat with your new friend."

"Not my friend." Sherlock hissed far too quickly. Kate was aware of the fact they'd only spent roughly thirty minutes in each others company and she was by no means his friend, but he answered so quickly and so viciously that she couldn't help but think it was a bit strange. She didn't let his harshness bother her though, and instead took a biscuit of the tray beside her.

"You're always so rude," Mrs Hudson shook her head. "It's no wonder you don't have-"

"Get out!" Sherlock shouted, causing the older woman and Kate to jump slightly. Mrs Hudson opened her mouth to say something but thought the better of it. With a wave of her hands and an exasperated sigh she turned and left the apartment, slamming the door shut behind her. Sherlock caught Kate's eye and he rolled his eyes. "We've got a case to work on, remember? She'd just keep talking and we wouldn't get anything done."

"Okay, okay." Kate held up a hand in submission before putting her cup back on the tray. "So, where shall we start?"

"The murderer isn't a serial killer, that much we do know. So, it's a one off thing. What possible reason could someone have for killing just once? I'd say assassin but the crime scene is far too unorganised and the body too beaten. It's a personal vendetta. Oh, they're always interesting- some of the reasons people commit murder are sometimes ridiculous. 'My neighbour had a party last night and it kept me up so I shot him.' Ordinary humans are such strange little things, aren't they? Kate, why would you kill someone?"

The question caught her off guard, and she was ever so startled as to why he'd ask her that. She hadn't ever thought about killing someone, not in cold blood anyway. "Uh," She tried to think of a mildly justifiable reason for murder. "If the victim had done something really bad towards me or my family I guess. Rape, murder- maybe abuse."

"No, it's nothing quite so serious as that. Think less violent."

"Oh God, maybe, if you're a little screwed in the head, the victim had been rude, a bully perhaps. The victim could of been having an affair?" It was pretty far fetched, but there had been a couple of cases Kate had worked on where an angry boyfriend or wife had killed their spouse for having an affair.

"Yes! Exactly! The victim was having an affair with the killer's wife- he's not gay, that was evident from the jeans he wore and the books on the shelf, not to mention the fact he had a baby and lived alone. Anyway, the victim's wife found out about the affair, and split up with the victim, hence why he lives alone but still has the baby. It's not the victim's ex though. It's got something to do with the other half of the affair. The woman the victim was having an affair with was the killer's wife, but they're still together, meaning that the killer has only recently found out about the affair."

"How'd you know it was his wife?" Kate asked, biting into another biscuit.

"The ring on his finger left marks on the victim's face where he was punched." Kate nodded, slightly amazed. She hadn't even seen that, let alone figure out the rest. Her phone buzzed in her pocket and after finishing the biscuit, she pulled it out to see she had a text from Lestrade.

**Received 10: 37 AM.**  
_Victims name is Adam Mallory. DNA tests are being done. Should be ready by tomorrow morning. No sign of any finger prints though, only Mallory's. Having fun?_

She typed back a quick reply, all too aware of Sherlock's eyes on her.

**Sent to: Lestrade at 10:37 AM.**  
_Victim was having affair with killer's wife. Baby is Mallory's and killer's wife's. Having a blast. Sherlock Holmes is an incredible man, slightly scary, but incredible. _

"The victim is called Adam Mallory. Lestrade says DNA tests are being done but they haven't found any fingerprints, only Mallory's." She relayed the information to the two men. Sherlock looked bored and unimpressed, and tapped his fingers impatiently on the arm of the chair. John scribbled something down in a small black notebook.

"Mallory had just been to the pub, judging from the stench of alcohol that covered his body he got relatively drunk. Now there was no sign of forced entry, meaning that the killer was either already in his house or had stolen keys from him and waited for him to come home. No, that's not right. What was on the mat by the door? Two pairs of footprints meaning the killer came home with him. That doesn't make sense though, seeing as this was planned. Unless...of course! The killer took Mallory to the pub, got him ridiculously drunk so he could then accompany Mallory home to make sure 'he arrived safely.' That's when the fight broke out, that's when Mallory was killed. But the pub, why the pub?" Sherlock spoke so fast, he hardly paused for breath. Kate struggled to keep up with him, her "ordinary" brain not being able to process the information as quickly as Sherlock's did. She got there eventually, then suddenly she was hit with the answer. She was a detective, this is what she did.

"Rugby," Kate stated, her brown eyes widening with realisation. "You said Mallory was a rugby player and there was a game yesterday. My neighbour is a huge fan and wouldn't stop talking about it. He loves the local team. What do sporty people usually do after they've played a game and won? What do grown men do when they've won something?"

"They go to the pub." John smiled, looking up from his laptop.

"I'll get Lestrade on it right away." Kate grinned, standing from the arm chair and pulling her phone out of her pocket, her fingers dialing away at the numbers. "Hey, Lestrade? Yeah it's me. We've got it."

* * *

Later that evening, long after she'd come home from work, Kate Cordova lay stretched across her sofa, the TV humming away in the background. Her freshly washed hair was piled up on her head, and her old pyjama's were torn and stained. She had her laptop in front of her, several different tabs open at once. John Watson's blog was one of them, and Kate Cordova had spent the entire evening reading through it, all up to the most recent one, which she was pleased to find that she was mentioned in. "DC Cordova" John had called her, and the title bought a smile to her face.

Sherlock Holmes was a wild one. Kate had hardly heard of him until the past few weeks, and only after today had she been interested enough to look him up. He'd faked his own death to pull down criminal mastermind, James Moriarty. After doing some math and calculating some dates, she realised that only recently had Sherlock Holmes "risen from the grave" and re-joined John Watson. She also found out that the sweet doctor had a girlfriend, and after some digging on Facebook and Twitter, she was somewhat pleased to note how Mary seemed relatively normal. Sherlock Holmes on the other hand... he was a mystery. How he deduced things, worked things out and solved things perplexed and intrigued Kate. Though part of her couldn't help but fret over what he had already knew about her, part of her was angry that her personal life and secrets had been plucked from right out beneath her nose by a complete stranger. Part of her wished she was as smart as he was, at least then she could play him by his own game, though it be a dangerous and never ending game. With a sigh, Kate realised she'd never be able to do that, and soon cast the thought out of her head. Her mother had always told her to not fixate on "whimsical fantasies" as you'd only get stuck in your fantasy world. Closing down her laptop, turning off the TV and lights, she headed to her room, the soft mattress and fresh smelling sheets pulling her into bed. Kate Cordova had done enough research for one night.

* * *

Later that evening, long after Kate had gone, Sherlock Holmes sat in his chair, his long elegant fingers steepled under his chin. The members of the rugby team were to be taken in for questioning tomorrow, no doubt Scotland Yard's newest member would be interviewing them. Kate was after all, quite clearly the only one with a brain- or a brain she knew how to use, anyway. He understood that this was hardly a tasking case, but it would keep him busy for the next few days. Then what? How long would he have to wait for another person to die? Not too long, he hoped. Sherlock Holmes very much hated waiting, especially for something he loved.

In the meantime, he had to keep his whirlwind of a mind busy. And it was busy thinking about Kate Cordova. Twenty-nine years old, born in Spain and moved to England when she was just a young girl. Ever since then Miss Cordova had been living in London, yet she'd spent the last two years residing in the countryside- he'd deduced York, but he was open to a slight variation. She wasn't rich, that much was clear from the way she dressed. No, no, Kate Cordova didn't dress cheaply, her clothes just weren't expensive enough to mean she was rich. She didn't wear designer labels. Yet (after hacking into the police database) Kate was living in an apartment near St Barts, and the rent wasn't exactly average either. She had money, but not _that_ much money. Then there was her name- _Kate _-her very English name. Even the police database didn't say her real name. That bothered him, that bothered him a was something else as well though, something he couldn't quite place. He'd seen it before, many times before, yet Sherlock Holmes could not figure out what it was. She jumped when he'd shouted earlier. Now, she had been taken by surprise by the sudden change in tempo, but there was something more- more than just surprise. God, he hated not knowing! He racked his mind for an answer and came up blank, frustration eventually getting the better of him, forcing him to drop the matter and move on. Sherlock Holmes realised that he was going to have to do some research.

* * *

**Hey! I'm having fun with this, and I hope you are too. Sherlock is an interesting character to write and I very much enjoy writing him. Don't forget to read and Review! **


	4. You're Here To Arrest Me

"We managed to bring them all in with the exception of two," Donovan sighed as she passed Kate a coffee. "One of them is on holiday in Turkey and has been for the past two weeks and the other," she paused, her lips pursing as she nodded. "It's looking like it was him."

"Ah," The blonde woman blew on her coffee, the smell of the hot steaming liquid filling her nostrils. Scotland Yard's coffee was certainly not the best and there were mornings where Kate couldn't bring herself to drink it, but it did smell good. "Where is he?"

"A few officers went to his flat this morning, his wife was there on her own. She said she hadn't seen him for almost three days. No phone calls or texts. She seemed pretty worried and went on about how he'd just found out about her affair with his friend. Lestrade gave Holmes a call and the freak is on his way as we speak."

Kate frowned and peered at Donovan. The other woman was too busy drinking and texting someone to notice Kate's annoyance. "Freak" wasn't a word _she'd_ use to describe Sherlock, and she had the feeling Donovan wasn't overly keen on the man. "Freak" was the kind of word kids used to make someone different feel worthless. Kate didn't like it. "Why'd you call him freak?" She asked, raising the cup to her lips and taking a sip.

"He's a strange one, Kate. He'll just get you in trouble and danger and make your life a misery. He's too smart for his own good and has no awareness or respect for your emotions. I'd stay away from him if I were you."

"Well, you're not me." Kate grumbled, though her comment went unheard by Donovan as Lestrade, Sherlock and John came striding over. Lestrade was talking fervently to both the men, though John seemed to be the only one listening. Sherlock's eyes travelled across the entire office before settling on Donovan and Kate. His angular face remained straight and emotionless. After spending a day in the company of Sherlock Holmes, and looking up his cases during the evening, Kate came to the conclusion that being friends with such a man could be incredibly exciting. But she weighed up her chances and realised that a cold man like him would be ridiculously hard to melt. Ignoring Donovan's insults and insistence that Kate should stay away, she decided she quite liked Sherlock.

"Donovan," Sherlock glanced in the general direction of the darker woman, though he didn't really look at her. "Kate." He did, on the other hand, look at Kate.

"Freak." Sally Donovan uttered the greeting. Kate's head snapped in the other woman's direction. Calling him a freak behind his back was bad enough, but to his face and with such disgust? Kate very much struggled to hold her tongue. If Lestrade wasn't standing there, she probably would of, but she was only just back on the job and she had to make a good impression on the boss, regardless of her and Greg's previous friendship.

"Right," Lestrade finally spoke, pushing his hands into his coat pockets. "Let's get down to business. Cordova, you're riding with me and Sherlock and John. Donovan, stay here on this one. I need you to work on the burglary case with Anderson. " Donovan nodded, glared at Sherlock and turned away, her thick black hair bouncing as she walked. "We'll have an arrest by the end of the day."

"We don't know where this guy is though." John interrupted, pointing out the major flaw in Lestrade's plan."

"That's why we're here, John. Lestrade is out of his depth and doesn't know where the suspect is. He needs me to figure it out. Oh, which I've already done, by the way." Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Isn't it obvious?" After taking in three blank expressions, he sighed. "If you've killed someone, where would you go? Where would no one think to look. No? The crime scene. Trevor Marr is at the crime scene." This was the first time Kate had heard their suspect's name, no one had thought to tell her before. "He's probably armed, so I'd bring a gun and some back up. Let's get a move on then, it's already half five." Sherlock turned on his heels, his coat swishing around him. Kate placed her half empty cup down on the closest desk and hurried after him, leaving Lestrade to sort out back up.

The four of them sat in one of the undercover cars across the street of the dead man's apartment. The body had been cleared, the forensic team had done what they had to and the flat was near enough empty, save for the large red puddle of dried blood on the carpet.

"He's in there." Sherlock grumbled from the back seat, popping his collar. John sat besides him, his eyes fixed on Mallory's flat.

"We have to be sure." Lestrade snapped, sounding much like a fed up parent whose kid hadn't stopped moaning all day. Along the street were two other cars, all filled with armed police men, all waiting for Lestrade to buzz in on the radio and tell them to go. Another car was parked behind the building, watching the fire escapes incase Marr tried to make a run for it. A shadow moved in the window of Mallory's flat, the figure visible for just a second. Lestrade grabbed the radio as fast as a rocket, and suddenly everything was go.

Lestrade and Kate entered the building first, climbed the first flight of stairs quickly before another few non-uniformed police men followed. Mallory's flat was on the third floor, and they ascended the stairs quickly and quietly. Lestrade had also instructed Sherlock and John to stay in the car, but Kate was under no illusion that they'd actually stayed there. Pausing just before he entered the flat, Lestrade signalled Kate to keep going up. "Top floor." He whispered, his hand closing around the door knob. With a nod, she made her way up three more flights of stairs, a group of police men following her. At each floor two of them would disperse until it was just Kate and two other guys, both of whom were armed. She knew why Lestrade had sent her to the top floor, she wasn't stupid. He was worried, it was her first case back, he doubted her mental stability and how she would perform on the job. He knew Marr wouldn't be on the top floor just as well as she did. In a way it was sweet, how he was trying to keep her out of danger, but it was also incredibly annoying how he was preventing her from doing her job.

"You two, check along the halls and any empty flats. Buzz in if you find anything." She instructed, gesturing to the walkie-talkie attached to her belt. The men did as she told them without arguing. The block of flats was quite maze-like, with the hallways taking unexpected turns leading onto another flight of stairs, a dead end or another set of hallways. Most of the flats were occupied, but there were a few...dirty looking ones that had no one in them. It didn't take her long to search them, and soon she ended up back where she started. The other two men hadn't returned, nor had they tried to contact her over the radio. A soft breeze to her left ruffled her hair and sent a shiver down her spine. The cold winter air-

"Shit." She whispered, her hand reaching behind her to pull out the gun she'd tucked into her belt. Just down the corridor, a door marked "EXIT" hung open, the old wooden door swaying in the wind. Kate hadn't noticed the fire escape before, mainly because it wasn't open before, and it became apparent that the door lead to the roof. "Shit." She whispered again, turning the safety of the gun off with a soft click. She moved forward slowly and quietly, the weapon slightly raised as she pushed the door open with her shoulder. In front of her was another set of stairs at the top of which was another door. That was open as well, and this time it was made of a cold metal that clanged loudly against the frame. She stepped out cautiously onto the roof, the wind pulling her hair into her face.

* * *

Lestrade clenched his fists in anger. Mallory's flat was empty, and so far no one had found any sign of Trevor Marr anywhere in the building. Sherlock Holmes was waiting for Greg in the doorway of the flat, his hands in his pockets and a frown on his face. "Nothing?" He asked, confused. Sherlock was never wrong, but Lestrade shook his head.

"He's not bloody here. You were wrong, Holmes."

"No," Sherlock mumbled, stepping back and thinking everything over again. "No, he's here. He's just not _here." _Sherlock grimaced, letting out a sigh. "He's seen us and panicked and run. He knows he can't go down so he must go-"

"Up." Greg barely said the word, and suddenly his mouth dropped open.

"What is it now?" Sherlock snapped. They didn't have time to stand around with their mouths open, there was a murderer above them, and he wasn't going to get arrested with the detective inspector bumbling around.

"Shit," Greg started for the stairs at the end of the hallway, opposite Mallory's place. "Kate is up there." It was Lestrade that had to race after Sherlock as the tall man pushed past the detective and ran up the stairs.

* * *

After a quick inspection, Kate hastily came to the conclusion that she was alone on the roof. There were little if not any places to hide, and it would be incredibly hard to miss a grown man. Her shoulders relaxed and she lowered the gun. "Got a clear on the-" She started to speak into the radio, but a vicious knock to the back of her head sent her falling forward, the gun tumbled out of her hand and landed a few feet away, the walkie-talkie smashing under her hip as she landed on it. The gravel sliced her palms, though she didn't have time to think about the stinging sensation travelling through her hands as she was grabbed by the back of her jacket and pulled to her feet. Trevor Marr was, as Sherlock had deduced, a rather large individual. He was at least twice Kate's size, and God knows how many times stronger. He held her in a vice like grip before throwing her to the floor again, the gravel cutting up her knees. She skidded until she hit a vent protruding from the roof, her body causing the thing to make a loud, metallic thud. She scrambled to her feet as fast as she could, the gun in her peripheral vision.

"You're here to arrest me, aren't you?" Trevor Marr bellowed, a manic look in his eyes which were brimming with tears. "Aren't you!" He shouted, his deep voice sending shudders through Kate's body. Marr stepped towards her, his fists clenched at his sides. Kate had no where to go, she was pressed up against the vent and if she tried to run left or right he'd grab her. So, she did what anyone would do in her situation. Bringing her knee forward, she slammed it into his groin, and though he was a large man, he was a man all the same and doubled over, a groan of pain escaping his throat. This gave Kate enough time to slip past him. She scrambled towards the gun, but she wasn't fast enough and Marr's fist connected with her forehead. "You bitch!" He shouted at her, spittle flying from his lips. Her head started to pound, the force of his punch enough to blur her vision and blood trickled down her forehead, the cut caused by his ring. The same ring that had left the marks on dead Mallory's smashed in face.

Kate stepped forward, but her feet were heavy and she staggered, the warm blood running down her face. She used her hand to support herself and found that instead of her bleeding palm landing on gravel, it landed on the smooth grip of the gun. Her fingers wrapped around it tightly, and she could feel Marr approaching, his big frame casting a shadow over hers. With a great muster of strength, Kate swung her arm around, the butt of the gun finding it's mark and hitting Marr in the jaw. He stumbled backwards, giving the young woman enough time to straighten herself. She twisted, feet apart and in line with her shoulders, the gun held steady in her hand. She aimed it straight at Marr's forehead, her finger hovering over the trigger. He made towards her, but stopped suddenly, his eyes fixed at something behind Kate.

"Trevor Marr," A voice called over Kate's shoulder, and she turned to see Sherlock, Lestrade and three other police men bundle out of the fire escape a few feet away. "Trevor Marr, you're being arrested for suspicion of murder, anything you say can and will be held against you." It was Lestrade who was shouting, though he was a blur as he came to stand in front of Kate. "Hands above your head and turn around." More of the police men moved forward and cuffed Marr, pushing him towards the fire escape. "You okay?" Lestrade asked, his brows creased. Kate nodded, breathless, the adrenaline and fear coursing through her veins. Lestrade squeezed her shoulder gently, before following Marr and the others.

Kate managed to stumble over to the door, where she suddenly noticed Sherlock. Had her vision not been blurry and her head not spinning, she would of noticed the tiniest hint of concern on his face. "Whoa." She muttered, blinking again and again as the door doubled and quaked in front of her. Her hand shot out, grabbing whatever was closest to her to steady herself. Incidentally it was Sherlock's arm. She felt him tense, but he didn't complain like she worried he might. Instead he stood there in silence, waiting until she was steady enough to make her way down the stairs and he stayed close enough so he could watch her and catch her should she decide to faint.

* * *

**Well this chapter was so much fun. I really _really_ enjoy writing fighting and violence. So I guess there'll probably be a lot more in the future. Lil Sherl being all helpful and such like. Aw... Now, be warned, the next chapter may be a few thousand words of filler but only because I want to establish some more characters who will be quite important in regards to Sherlock and Kate. Please, leave a review! They are much appreciated! -mwah x**


	5. Author's Note

**Hey guys,  
I'm afraid there'll be no new chapter this week as I'm going to Italy tonight and won't return until Tuesday. I've started something and I can promise I'm not abandoning or forgetting about this story. Apologies for no new chapter, but I will update as soon as possible! Thank You - mwah!**


	6. Minor Details, Darling

"I don't need to-"

"Yes, yes you do." Sherlock asserted, his grip on Kate's arm tight as he pulled her through the office. He'd ignored her protests and pleas to stay, both Sherlock and Lestrade adamant that she see a doctor or go to hospital. At first she'd been willing to see John, but Sherlock soon informed her that he'd sent John away on a "personal" errand.

"I really don't." She continued, though she let him drag her away anyway. She'd spent the car ride back to Scotland Yard picking bits of gravel out of her palms and though the bleeding had stopped, the little cuts stung like a bitch. Her forehead on the other hand was still pouring and the blood matted in her hair and trickled down her cheek. A repulsively large lump was forming on the back of her head as well, her eyes still seeing double.

"I'm not arguing with you." Announced Sherlock, opening the door and stepping out onto the street, his gloved hand still firmly attached onto her arm.

"Well if you're not going to argue with me you can't make me leave," Kate could feel her voice rising and she found herself surprised that by doing so left her feeling incredibly dizzy and weak at the knees. She pulled her arm out of Sherlock's grasp and came to a halt on the pavement. It was originally to stop herself from falling, but she didn't want him knowing that and so simply pretended she was trying to make a point. "I'm not going anywhere. Marr's got to be questioned and interviewed, I want to be the one to do that."

"Lestrade already told you, he and I have got that covered. You, on the other hand are suffering from a concussion and will pass out if you don't have that cut seen to," Sherlock peered at the wound on her forehead. "Hmm. More blood loss than expected." He muttered to no one in particular. Kate watched him as he spun away from her and began to pace up and down the street, his long legs allowing him to take large, loping strides. On anyone else it would probably look clumsy and gangly, but Sherlock managed to make it look...elegant? Yes, Kate was quite sure elegant was the word she'd use to describe him, and not just in his long strides either. After a few seconds of restless pacing, Sherlock appeared to have made up his mind as to what they were going to do. "Lestrade also told us that I'm to take you to hospital, though I'm not happy about that arrangement either." He uttered quickly and hailed a cab.

After spending two hours at St Barts having her head examined by a handsome young doctor named Jason, Kate found herself becoming more and more infuriated. She'd been in St Barts before, but never as a patient. She'd hated hospitals ever since she was a girl and as a twenty-nine year old detective trained to use a gun who'd spent her career catching criminals, nothing had changed. They were too controlled, too clinical and she detested the smell of sickness. Not only had she been trapped in a waiting room, she'd been trapped in a waiting room with Sherlock Holmes. The dark haired man had taken great delight in stating her supposedly "obvious" discomfort before he practically scolded her for "indulging in such ridiculous flirtations" with the charming Dr Jason. Oh, he'd also informed her of said doctor's issues in the bedroom. In front of the doctor. Kate could do nothing but sit in a shocked and embarrassed silence. Though, she couldn't deny the fact that as soon as the doctor had finished and left the room, she broke out into a fight of laughter and she was sure Sherlock smiled too.

After hurrying her back to her flat, Sherlock made a quick and swift exit. Not wanting to get caught up in unneccessary conversation or something. Kate wasn't listening to him just as he wasn't listening to her when she offered him a cup of tea. After sitting her down on the sofa and making sure the steri-strips on her forehead were still stuck on, Sherlock mumbled a goodbye as he glided out the door, leaving Kate alone.

Dr Jason had insisted she spend the rest of the day off work. He'd told her that she could pass out or feel very ill and that someone should stay with her. Sherlock had agreed and nodded, promising he wouldn't leave her. Evidently he had lied, but Kate wasn't all too bothered. She didn't feel faint, nor did she feel ill. Her head and hands stung, but the initial double vision and weak at the knees feeling had vanished. She would happily go back to work. She was fine. Just a cut to the head and a mild concussion. Truthfully, that was hardly anything, Kate had certainly had worse.

Alone in her flat, with nothing but bad evening telly and a bar of chocolate to keep her company, Kate reached for her laptop perched precariously on the coffee table. There were two people who would almost definitely be doing nothing. Grabbing her phone, she sent a single word.

**Sent To: The Great Mr R at 8:16 PM**  
_Webcam?_

She didn't have to wait long for a reply, and soon she'd loaded up her laptop and awaited opened Skype. After a minute, the screen came to life and on the screen in front of her were the two people she loved the most. A young, pale brown haired man sat in an expensively decorated bedroom, a cigarette and wine glass in his hand. Besides him was a beautiful Indian woman, her straight black hair pulled over her shoulder. She wore a dressing gown and diamond earrings, and she too puffed away at a cigarette. Richard Hemley and Alisha Banerjee, Kate's best friends. When she'd gone away for the two years, she'd lived with Rich and Ali in Rich's fancy York country house, though to call it a house was an understatement. The great Edwardian house was more like a bloody manor, and it's grounds covered many acres, most of which were rolling hills and thick patches of woodland. Rich was, ironically, very rich. His father ran a successful hotel business, and had paid for his party-loving, obnoxious little son to live in his York house for as long as he please. Ali too was a heiress to millions, though her parents were probably in Dubai. Ali hadn't spoken to them for quite some time, and so was unsure of their location.

"Kitty!" They both shouted, though the connection was somewhat slow and her friends moved robotically on her screen. Kate had met them whilst she was at university in York, and the three became best friends instantly. They'd all cried when Kate first moved to London to join the Metropolitan Police, and they'd all cried a few weeks ago when she moved back to London again. Kate couldn't express how much she loved them. They were her best friends, and had been for almost ten years. When she'd left after _the _case, she'd packed her bags and spent the next two years living in Rich's manor with him and Ali. They'd helped her get through so much, yet they didn't even know why Kate "quit." She had never told them what actually happened, and hoped to God that she never would. They hadn't pressed her for answers either, and she figured they were quite content with the excuse of "a case went wrong."

"Kate, darling, where have you been? It's been almost four weeks since you moved to stinky London, and you haven't even called!" Rich clucked, his words laced with a snobbish, satirical air.

"I called you yesterday." Kate objected, though she was smiling. Rich took another drag on his cigarette and rolled his eyes.

"Minor details, darling," He leaned forward, peering at the screen. "What in God's name happened to your face?"

"Got in a fight with a murderer. Got sent home with concussion. Minor details." She watched as her two friends nodded intently. The offered their condolences and wished her a speedy recovery, though it was nearly all sarcastic dribble between the three of them.

"Have you met a London boy yet?" Ali asked, pushing Rich out of the way playfully to get closer to the screen. "Manali says they're excellent in bed- but then again," Ali stopped herself and looked wistfully into the distance. "She says that about everyone." Manali was Ali's younger, more promiscuous sister. Kate had met Manali once, and she much enjoyed the young woman's company. Both the Banerjee sisters were ridiculously beautiful, and both of them flaunted it.

"No!" Kate snapped at once, taking far too much notice of the smirk on Rich's face. "No! Not that kind of meet."

"Oh so you've just met a London boy then?" Rich grinned, taking a sip of his wine. He and Ali exchanged playful and knowing glance.

"Yes. There's two _actually_- Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. And no, I do not wish to have sex with either of them, before you ask."

"Oh! The famous detective and his blogger," Rich practically screamed, making both Ali and Kate jump. "God...that man's cheekbones..." He cooed, a pout forming on his lips. "I don't know about you two, but I think he's hot."

* * *

Interviewing Trevor Marr had been a long and arduous process, and one which Sherlock hadn't found much joy from. The beast of a man soon became a quivering crying wreck once they'd left him in the room on his own, Lestrade and Sherlock watching him through the one-way mirror. It took Sherlock less than fifteen minutes to get a confession from him, and Lestrade had dragged him away to a cell. No doubt he'd go to court in a few months, spend a decade or two in prison then come out, all redeemed and new. It was a case Sherlock had dealt with many times, and the outcome was always the same.

His mind wandered as he sat in the back of a taxi on his way back to Baker Street. John had text him earlier, the doctor had gathered most of the things Sherlock had requested. He wanted to conduct some experiments back home, but unfortunately he lacked 9 litres of vodka, 14 metres of duct tape and a hack saw. So he'd decided to save himself the odd glances and strange looks and send John to go get what he needed. It was hardly like John would have been at all useful in arresting Marr anyway... though his medical knowledge would have been somewhat helpful.

Kate would heal up nicely, Dr Jason had made sure of that, all Sherlock had to do was hope the young woman didn't pass out and asphyxiate. Though he had known her for matter of days, Sherlock Holmes found himself strangely enjoying her company. She didn't ask stupid questions, which was always a good thing, and she didn't pry or make small talk.

Well, enjoying was the wrong word...he tolerated her company, that's it. She wasn't a friend (he only had one friend) but he was sure he could count her as an acquaintance, and that too was an honour bestowed to few.

* * *

**Gosh, I haven't updated in quite some time. I am so very sorry for that, it's just I was drowning in school work and got ill and generally just forgot to write. Well, have no fear for I have returned! This isn't a very long or exciting chapter, but I wanted to introduce Ali and Rich and just sort of conclude the first few chapters. The next one will be more actiony and ploty as Kate and Sherlock move onto a new case. What do you think of Ali and Rich then? Read and Review -mwah!**


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